Through Flames
by subseeker
Summary: "I don't owe you my love just because you saved my life, Cena," Phil said lowly, his face still carefully blank. "No. No you don't," John said softly as he hesitantly took the other man's hand in his own. "All I ask for is a chance to give you a reason to love me, Phil..." - Punkena, AU and not as bad as the summary ;)
1. Chapter 1

One should try something new every now and then. And here we have my first attempt on Punkena :)

It's a multi-chapter fic and we'll have ups and downs in here.

Well, for now have fun! Hope you'll like it :3

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The smoke stung in his eyes, scratched in his lung with every breath he took, making it hard to breathe at all. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked rapidly, tried to make out where to go. It was hot, too damn hot and it fucking felt like his skin would melt on his body any second. It was getting hotter with every step he took further into the building and his head put up a fight against his heart, demanding from him to fucking turn around and run as fast as he could, because he knew he shouldn't be here now, knew better than to walk straight into a fire without fireproof clothing and his gear.

Get out of here, his head howled. Away from the danger.

But his heart was stronger and so he kept on walking through the smoke, stepping over knocked over chairs, tables, over bags, folders, boxes and debris, doing his best to avoide the fire. For a brief moment he stopped, took a look around while holding his bunched up hoody firmly over his nose. Every now and then his ears caught faint voices. Or at least he thought so. Involuntary he ducked a bit and looked up to the ceiling as the air, the room around him vibrated. But nothing happened.

He tried hard to remember the way and cursed under his breath. A breath he didn't have. He had been walking these goddamn corridors before without even giving a single thought about the way. Squinting into the smoke it almost looked like it's alive. Moving. Coiling, drifting, getting lighter and darker. Step by step, further, deeper into the choking, living veil… and it got louder, that sizzling noise and he knew what it meant. He was close now. Close to the fire.

Time was about to outrun him…

To say that he was afraid of this here, of what could happen, of not knowing if he got out of here alive… or if he could safe _him_… was an understatement but it was nothing compared to the fear that _he_ would die in here.

It was luck that he had been late, that he hadn't been in the building when the explosion happened and that he hadn't been all too close to the building already on his way to pick Kofi up. A deafening loud bang. There had even been some a kind of a shock wave, not strong enough to send him on his ass but still strong enough to send pieces of glass flying from broken windows. For a long minute he'd been standing there, paralyzed, staring at the partly collapsed building and at rising smoke, underlined by screams, coming from the insides. And then… people, running out of the building. Injured, with burns, bleeding. Walking, limping, being dragged along, being carried. And the sound of sirens. The police, ambulances…

His attempts to help had been stopped by the police. His statement that he was a firefighter himself hadn't helped.

Not your district, step aside and let us do our job, man.

He knew they were right, were only doing their job. He would have said and done the same. And all the time his eyes had been searching the mass of people for Kofi and for… him. Searching without finding them. Too long. But then eventually his eyes caught Kofi, bleeding, leaning heavily on two other men as they tried to get away from the building as fast as possible. His feet had carried him over to his friend and to his relief Kofi's injuries hadn't been too bad. But…

Have you seen Phil? he had asked breathless, hoping that Kofi knew where Phil was.

Kofi had looked at him with dull, hooded eyes. Sad eyes.

We've lost him in the chaos, Kofi had said. We went to find him but a part of the ceiling came down…

His eyes had jumped from Kofi to the building and back to Kofi. Begging.

We've been close to the cafeteria on the third floor… the last time I've seen him… Kofi had told him weakly, desperation filling his voice. I let him down.

This all, it happened within only a few minutes… and he knew that the firefighters would arrive any minute… but…

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd already been running towards the building. A police officer had tried to stop him and there was a good chance now that he would be charged for civil disorder, maybe even for hurting an officer because he had simply pushed the man out of his way will all his might. And he for sure would lose his job.

He fucking didn't care.

The way up to the third floor was nothing but a blur. Injured persons, destruction… The floors had partly collapsed. Every time he'd found someone lying on the ground, he'd felt for a pulse. Always… nothing. And those who had survived tried to get out.

His steps quickened automatically as he heard voices again, getting louder, coming closer through the guzzling noise of the fire and the threatening little sounds that warned that the building wouldn't withstand this forever. And then he could make out three silhouettes through the veil of smoke.

_Let it be Phil… please, let it be him…_

A few more steps… and his tiny hope that one of those silhouettes would be Phil was crushed as he saw three of Kofi's co-workers he'd seen once or twice before, walking towards him. Their faces were stained with blood and dark trails of grime and sweat, mingling to a grotesque painting. They were walking slowly, because the man in the middle had obviously a broken leg. The men stopped for a moment as he walked up to them.

"Have you seen Phil?" he asked, but there was only shock and confusion on their faces as they looked at him. "Phil Brooks. Have you seen him?" he added, hoping that it would stir a reaction.

Then one of them nodded slowly as the question seemed to sink through his horror-stricken mind and he mumbled: "Cafeteria…"

"Which way?" John asked.

The man shook his head no and grabbed his shirt.

"Don't. The ceiling came down," the man rasped. "He is dead."

For a painful moment the world around him faded out, leaving nothing behind but those three words.

"How can you know?" he heard himself say, his voice distant.

"He's trapped under debries and…" The man coughed hard and his colleagues talked at that they had to get out of here. "He wasn't moving, didn't react when I called. And if he isn't dead already, he will be before you reach him. It's too dangerous, man."

Images popped up in his head. Seeing Phil lying there bleeding, helpless in the midst of this horror.

"Which way?!" John repeated sharply.

"It's suicide to…" the other man began, probably to talk some sense into him, but the determined expression on John's face made him fall silent. Then: "Down this corridor, the second corridor on the left. You'll get yourself killed, man."

"I'm not gonna let him die in there," John growled. "You get out. The firefighters should be on their way up here."

He hoped they were, because he when he went into the building the firefighters hadn't been there yet. Giving them a curt nod, he continued his way down the corridor, following the way the man had told him. On his way he tried hard not to give the _obviously_ dead bodies which were lying on the ground too much attention. He'd seen these pictures before. Broken bodies. Blood. Destruction. Death. But it had always been when he was on duty, when he switched to autopilot to prevent himself from letting those images touch him. He'd never been in the situation that the life of one of his friends was on the line. Or the life of someone he was in love with.

This time it was different.

Phil. He had to find him. Get him out. Phil couldn't be dead. It was just not an option. John's mind spun and the noise in his head was as loud as the noise around him. And if he had been afraid of being in here, of maybe not getting out alive, not getting Phil out alive… is was nothing compared to the fear he felt now. The fear of finding him… dead.

_Don't even go there, he's alive,_ he warned himself.

Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the images his mind kept bombarding him with, he hunched down beside a lifeless body and felt for a pulse that wasn't there and although he really tried not to give it too much attention, a part of him could not _not_ register those nasty burns all over the body… it was a woman, a young woman with long blond hair, or rather what was left of it and… again he shook his head. He willed the autopilot to kick in. But without success. His mind kept spinning and his heart pounded in his chest.

His eyes found a bottle of water lying on the floor and he grabbed it, poured all its content over the bunched hoody and pressed the wettened fabric over his mouth and nose again and at least for now breathing was a bit easier.

The second corridor on the left… he'd already passed one and through the smoke he faintly saw the second one. And he also saw a faint but bright and orange light dancing in the smoky veil at the end of the corridor he was walking along.

His feet carried him further and into the corridor that led to the caferteria and through the big and wide open double door could see that there was fire in there, too. He was more running now than walking, because he was running out of time. The longer Phil was in there, the smaller were the chances that he would…

And then John's mind latched on all those things that could happen when Phil was alive. Because he was. Alive.

_Fuck…_

Burns. Broken bones. Internal injuries. Blood loss. Smoke poisoning. What if he had suffered head or spine injuries? What if…

John's hand which was holding the hoody to his nose and mouth sunk down as he stepped into the cafeteria. The ceiling had come down, yes… and it had buried half of the room. He saw smashed filing cabinets, desks, chairs and between the debries and beneath there were dead bodies. There was fire the kitchen area, too, and it would only be a matter of time until the gas bottles of the stoves would explode.

_Gosh, no…_

"Phil!" he called, but his voice was unsteady, cracking due to the biting air. "Phil!"

His eyes swept the room. They had said that Phil was trapped under debries, what meant that he had to be close to the collapsed part of the room. Again calling the other man's name, he walked deeper into the room. He didn't need to search long before his gaze fell on a tattooed arm. Phil was lying face down. Motionless. A floor beam was lying across his lower legs, pinning him to the ground.

Six steps, hurried, yet it felt like a little eternity.

Dropping to his knees beside the him, he quickly put his finger on the other man's neck, feverishly searching for a pulse and just as he was on the verge of despair… there was a faint beating against his fingertips.

"God, thank you…" he whispered, bringing his hand to Phil's grime-stained face, wiping a few strands of raven hair out of it. Leaning down a little, he called softly: "Phil? Can you hear me? Hey…"

There was no reaction. Letting his gaze roam the unconcious man, he tried to get a picture of the visible injuries. No burns, but various scratches, cuts and bruises. A big gash on his forehead. Gently he ran a hand over the dark hair. He had to get that damn floor beam off Phil's legs and their asses out of here as fast as possible, because he was already feeling dizzy and breathing was torture, but he couldn't lift the beam and pull Phil out from under it at the same time.

"Fuck…" he muttered and because he had no idea what else to do, he gave Phil a rough shake, a second and a third. "Phil! Open your eyes, dammit! _Phil_!"

He almost missed the barely audible moan and for a second he wasn't sure if Phil was coming round or… but then the other man opened his eyes a little, moaned again as he tried to bring a hand up to his head, but John took hold of it, leaning closer again. Phil's breathing was shallow, unsteady and wheezing, his eyes wandering around disorientated, most likely due to a concussion he'd suffered by the blow to his head. Again he ran a gentle hand over the other man's hair to draw his attention, but it took a few long seconds until Phil actually realized what was going on.

"John…?" he rasped, blinking very slowly.

"Yeah, I'm here," John replied, forcing a smile to his lips. Time is running, he reminded himself. "Listen, I need your help. There's a beam lying on your legs and I'll try to lift it. I need you to crawl out from under it, okay? Do you think you can do that?" But while he spoke, he saw Phil's eyes slip close again. "No, Phil, don't! Come on, stay awake! _Phil_!"

"… huh…?" he heard the other man breathe and slowly, oh so slowly Phil opened his eyes again.

"I need you to crawl out from under this goddamn beam, okay? Do you _understand_ what I'm saying?" A groan. The tiniest of nods. And John doubted that Phil had the strength to crawl even a centimeter, but it was the only chance. "Okay, good. I'll try to lift the beam now."

He doubted that Phil had the strength to move and now that he was positioning himself over the beam, he also doubted that he himself was strong enough to lift that bloody thing. But again it was their only chance. His fingers closed around the beam. He closed his eyes.

And then he pulled.

The sound that escaped his throat was a distorted and desperate version of a groan as he fought to lift the crushing weight of Phil's legs. His muscles and his joints howled under the strain and for agonizing seconds nothing happened. Letting go of the beam, John cursed and ran his hands through his face. All it needed where a few fucking centimeters, goddammit…

"Go…" he heard Phil say weakly, the word fading off to a coughing.

"I'm not gonna go anywhere without you, you hear me?" he replied determined as he closed his fingers once again around the beam.

With a breathless shout he pulled, his muscles bulking, burning under the weight. He felt the beam slip a little in his grip and tightened his hold until his fingers were hurting. _And he pulled_… until his body was screaming, just as his mind did. Only a few centimeters…

And then he heard a pained cry coming from Phil, the sound making him want to laugh out loud in relief. The beam was moving. Eventually he saw Phil shift, saw him crawl forward ever so slowly. The handsome face was contorted in pain and it was the image he saw as he screwed his eyes shut, fighting to keep the beam away from Phil's legs. His whole body was burning in pain under the strain, his legs started to shake and his hold on the beam got weaker… and weaker… and he threw his head back and howled.

And then the beam slipped out of his fingers... and fell…

**A month ago**

Stepping out of the shower, John stretched, sighing at the relaxed feeling after a thorough workout and a long, hot shower. Grabbing a towel, he quickly got himself dried up, wrapped it around his waist and walked over to the window to open it and what greeted him was hearty laughter. It slipped into the room and filled the space the fading steam left behind.

It was a by now familiar laughter, one that managed to draw his whole attention and it was what had gotten him interested in its owner in the first place. Its sound was clear, hearty, sunny and honest. Free. It was a laughter that had the power to make one laugh, too, if one wanted it or not. Just because. It was infectious. And for a moment he let it wash over him, before he left his place at the window, quickly threw a pair of sweat pants on and went to his bedroom, where he sat on the extra wide windowsill, holding a book in hand. The window was partly open, so he could hear what was spoken – or rather hear that voice – and the book was nothing but and excuse to sit there without making him seem like a freak who was spying other people.

Other people were in this case his neighbor Kofi and a man called Phil, a co-worker and a friend of Kofi. Well, John and Kofi were friend's too, ever since they had become neighbors. That would be five years now. But somehow John and Phil had never met, although Kofi knew each other for about three years already.

A tiny smile flashed over John's face. He had found out a few things already about Phil without actually exchanging a word with him or asking Kofi. He knew all of it from watching and listening to them when Phil came over to Kofi.

It had started about a month ago with a situation similar to the one a few minutes ago. He had opened the window of the bathroom and Phil's laughter had caught him off-guard as it wrapped itself around him and trickled right into his heart like warm honey. That feeling was accompanying him ever since.

Warm honey…

He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, staring down at this man while his heart skipped beats in a way that he knew all too well. And the thing was… it wasn't only Phil's voice but also his looks. He was a handsome guy. Really. A lean frame… just how John liked it. And in addition he seemed to be funny. And nice. A perfect package, at least from afar.

Luckily his creepy spying had been undiscovered by the two men who had been sitting on the patio of Kofi's house. And every second or third day at the lastest Phil would drop in at Kofi's for a few hours and theyy would sit on the patio to John's hidden and guilty viewing pleasure. It had become a habit to John. Or rater… an addiction.

The sun was low over the horzion already and of a deep golden color and its warm rays danced over his bare skin like tender fingers. The book sank down to his thighs while he rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes to let Phil's voice wash over him again. He wondered if Phil would like him, too. If there was a chance that this man could be interested in him the same way John was interested. And maybe, after a months of only watching the object of his desire, it was time to talk to Kofi and ask him if he could introduce them. Kofi would understand. He knew that John was bi.

A sigh passed John's lips. What if Phil was straight? As lucky as John was usually, Phil was probably straight as an arrow. And once again he would end up with a broken heart, like so many times before, because he tended to fancy guys which were either straight or turned out to be assholes. Usually. But although he didn't know Phil, it felt… different. He couldn't put his finger on what it was but it was what he felt. Maybe he should invite them over for a Barbeque? Would be a good occasion, wouldn't it?

Opening his eyes again, his gaze automatically swept down to Phil. And then his heart plummeted to his guts as Phil met his gaze, looking right back at him with an unreadable expression. Lifting his book, pretending to go back to reading would have been a good idea. Closing his eyes would also have been an option. But instead he kept staring at the other man like a deer in the headlight.

_Smooth, John. Very smooth…_

After a moment or two Phil tilted his head a little to the side. John saw him speak but he couldn't make out the words. Obviously he was asking Kofi who the staring man was, because Kofi turned around in his chair, looking up to him. Calling a _hey, bro_ up to him. And then he turned back around to Phil, who nodded slightly.

Andthen Phil waved at him… and the unreadable expression became a soft and beautiful smile, causing John's poor little heart to do somersaults in his chest, but he felt a smile of his own tug at his lips, a bright one as he waved back at Phil.

"Wanna come down, man?" Kofi called over his shoulder. "Got a cold beer waiting for you!"

"Coming!" he called back, the word escaping his mouth before he even realized that he was speaking.

Hopping from the windowsill, he made his way down to the yard, his heart beating in his throat in excitement, because, gosh, in a minute he would see say hello to the man he had a crush on and yes, he was acting like a silly schoolgirl here. When he reached the fence, Kofi was just vanishing in the house, probably to get something to drink, but John's eyes were fixed on Phil who just got up from his chair, coming towards him. As graceful as possible John hopped over the rather low fence and met Phil half-way, taking the hand which was held out to him. And John's heart, it stumbled in his chest.

"Hi, I'm Phil."

… warm honey…

And green eyes, sparkling… the soft smile on this handsome face… a faint, warm scent… sandalwood…

_Beautiful…_

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**Now... liked it? Want me to continue? Tell me :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Long time no post. Now, this one isn't a long chapter but I hope you'll like it nevertheless.

Enjoy!

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With a hollow clang the beam collided with the ground. John stared wide-eyed in shock and panic, his chest clenching painfully as he waited for an agonized scream… that never came. He stared at the beam. That had missed the tip of Phil's shoes just so and there was not even an inch of space between.

He wanted to laugh out loud, felt the hysterical and twisted sound crawl up is throat, but what left his mouth was a stuttering groan as his knees gave out and hit the ground hard. There was a dull pain in them but he didn't really feel it. His hands were resting with their backs on his thighs and his fingers looked like claws somehow, halfway curled, somewhat white from the pressure of holding on to soemthing that was much too heavy to be lifted actually. There were deep imprints on the insides of his hands. He couldn't really move his fingers. And… it hurt. _Everything_ hurt. But he didn't care.

But he did care about the faint vibration which was running through the building again like a warning and a reminder that they had to get you of here wuickly and John forced hiself to crawl over to Phil, ignoring the pain that suerged through him as his body once more complained. Blood was soaking the blue jeans were the beam had been lying on Phil's lower legs, probably due to open fractures, but to be sure he would have to take a look under the bloody denim and it was neither the right time not the right place and he didn't want to risk that more dirt got in the wounds.

Phl was conscious, maybe too concious even. His face was a grimce of pain and much to pale under the layers ot grime and blood and John wished he could have done something to ease the other man's pain, but he knew that in a few seconds he would have to make it even worse instead. Laying a hand on a shaling shoulder, he wanted to turn Phil on his back as gently as possible, but Phil's voice, weak but biting at the same time, stopped him.

"Don't you… fu-fucking… touch m-me…"

"Phil, we need to get out of here," John urged, again attempting to turn him over, but once he moved, Phil tried to stop him and this time by lifting a hand to the one resting on his shoulder to push it away.

John heard him moan in pain, the sound tearing at him, but he couldn't be considerate of Phil's pain now.

"I know that it hurts and I'm sorry to cause you even more pain now, but we don't have the fucking time to discuss this, okay? We gotta get out. Now!" John said as calm as possible but determined and with it he turned Phil onto his back, clenching his teeth hard at the agonized scream the other man gave as his crushed legs were moved.

And once more Phil cried out as he picked him up bridal style. It was a tortured sound that made John sick to the guts. Weak hands clawed at him. And then the body in his arms went slack, the cries stopping abruptly. Phil had lost conciousness and it was better like this. And the tears in John's eyes remained unseen.

Compared to the beam Phil was light as a feather, but lifting that goddamn beam had cost him all his strength and so he felt his legs shake under the other man's weight, felt his arms complain.

"Fuck," he hissed. "_Fuck!_"

This couldn't be happening, not now that he had found Phil alive and by far not as bdaly injured as he could have been. His fucking body couldn't seriously be quitting its service on him now. He fucking needed to be sure Phil was out of here and safe, that he would get out of this as good as possible before the building collapsed over them.

As quickly as he could go without jarring the crushed legs too much, he made his way back to where he had come from. If he'd had more time, he would have put improvised splints on Phil's legs, but time was the last thing they had now. The minutes between getting into the building to finding Phil here had felt like a fucking eternity and he had no words to describe for how it felt to him now. It seemed like way was endlessly long now as he tried to get out here as fast as possible. The air around them was thick and practically not breathable anymore and every breath rasped and scratched his lungs raw. Phil's breathing was too unsteady, too shallow and wheezing. And the way out had become a fucking blind flight, leaving John hoping, praying that he was remembering it right.

Again and again his eyes found back to Phil's face and more than once he stumbled, tripped over something… or someone… due to fading concentration and growing dizziness. Thinking was becoming harder and harder… his mind was drifting off and it was Phil's pained moans that pulled him out of it again. If it hadn't been for the wheezing and the moans… Phil looked like… he looked… dead. The body in John's arms was limp, a dead weight without the slightest bit of body tension. Limbs, dangling lifelessly from it. Phil's head was tilted back, lolling like the head of a ragdoll…

And every now and then he heard it… like the shadow of a sound, reaching his ears from somewhere out of the smoke… faintly… screaming. Somewhere someone was screaming.. in pain… for help… and no matter how much he tried not to hear it, it burned itself into his mind.

John only realized that he had reached the door to the stairwell when he stood right in front of it. The door stood open or rather it was held open by the motionless body of a man lying in the doorway. Giving the door a kick to open it further, John stepped over the man whose dead eyes stared into nothing. A few unsteady steps down to the next landing… and John stopped, laning heavily against the wall while his eyes swept around. Smoke, everywhere. Gasping he sunk down until he sat hunching, resting most of Phil's weight on his thighs. His arms felt like goddamn spaghetti with barely enough strength left to carry the other man. Actually he wasn't sure if he had enough strength to get up again.

Another moan, louder this time and John watched as the other man's eyes fluttered open. Shifting his hold a little, John tried to catch Phil's gaze but soon he realized that the other man was barely concious.

"… J'hn…?"

The tiny sound almost drowned in the noise around them but John caught it, if only because he saw the other man's lips move.

"Gonna… gonna get… you out," he rasped, fighting to straighten up again. "Promise."

He had never, not once in his life, broken a promise and he would keep this one, too, even if it meant that it would cost him his life. So often in the past he had risked his life or someone he didn't even know, so there was no need to lose a single thought about giving it for the man who owned his heart, was there? Best though would be if they both got out.

While his feet brought them closer to the first floor slowly but steadily, his mind began to wander back in time and as far away from here as possible, no matter how much the firefighter in him cried to stay fucking focused.

"_Impressive…" Phil mumbled as he began to circle John slowly._

"_Nah, we're pracitcally the same height," John said smiling as he caught Phil eyeing him like a special piece of art._

_Phil had asked him to take his shirt off and hey, he sure wouldn't say no if the man he wanted asked him something like that._

"_Maybe, but fuck, man, I can hide behind you easily," Phil stated, coming to stand in front of him again, while his eyes roamed over his body once more. "You're a goddamn bull."_

_The green eyes came up to John's as he said that, but dropped back to the broad chest almost immediately and at the intent stare John had a hard time not to grin like a complete idiot. Instead he let his pecs jump ever so slightly and the answer he got was a twitch of the other man's lips. _

"_Uhm… can I touch…?" Phil asked without wrenching his gaze away from the bulky pecs and John only just managed to fight down an all too smug smile._

"_Sure," he said, pursing his lips a little to hold back the next smirk that threatened to show up._

_Phil reached out, hesitantly laying a hand on a pec and while he did that, he gnawed on his bottom lip._

_Too. Damn. Cute._

_The hand on his chest became bolder, feeling around. And maybe, just maybe… Phil felt how hard his heart was pounding against his chest…_

Another landing and another and his legs were shaking and his hold on Phil got weaker. For a brief moment he leaned against the wall again, trying hard to breathe. But he couldn't. Another vibration ran through the building and through John, too, and with it his legs gave way and he sank down, lowering Phil as carefully as possible to the ground until the other man sat leaning against his chest. If he rested for a short moment, maybe he would be able to gather some energy…

And then several things happened at the same time. There was the deafening sound of an explosion which shook the building once more and John held Phil tighter while leaning forward a little more, shielding him. Only a blink later he felt a numbing pain as something crashed down on him. And the last thing he saw before his world blacked out was a silhoutte in the smoke…

x

John's eyes were fixed on the figure down in Kofi's yard. Phil.

Phil was sitting in a wheelchair and there where splints on his legs. He was holding a book in hands but for the last fifteen minutes he hadn't turned over to the next page and John's guessed that the other man was lost in his headspace.

One month now since the fire. A little eternity…

Three days ago Kofi had brought Phil here because the building insurance refused to pay since it had been a gas explosion that had caused the whole horror and the insurance defined the position that the explosion happened because of human failure and refused now the coverage of any kind of costs. That meant that the medical bills of the persons concerned. In Phil's case it meant that the costs of the surgery and one month of medical care in a hospital caused the hospital management to make Phil choose between a) paying the bills himself, because his private health insurance refused to pay, too, or b) leave the hospital.

Phil couldn't pay the bills that turned out to be a cosmic amount and so he had to leave and because his apartment wasn't made for wheelchairs, Kofi suggested that he could stay until he was back on his feet. So to speak.

John had his very own Kofi-News everday, that was why he knew all this.

For a moment John's thoughts stopped dead as Phil looked up to him, the expression on his face unreadable. A handful of seconds they gazed at each other, before Phil went back to reading. Or whatever he was doing, because he still didn't turn the pager over.

For the past days since Phil was at Kofi's place, John had spent a lot of time sitting here on the extra broad windowsill that had somehow become his comfort-corner, waiting for Phil to come out so he could watch him. He didn't even try to hide what he was doing and Phil… well, Phil met his gaze every now and then, always with a guarded expression.

Kofi had told him, too, that Phil couldn't remember anything, including how he had gotten out of the building and John had made him primise not to tell him the truth. It was better this way. Telling Phil wouldn't have changed anything anyway an so John was content with knowing that Phil was okay.

_He blinked. Once, twice… confusion washing through him as his thoughts desperately tried to wade through the thick layers of haze in his head. Something told him that he should be hurting like hell, but instead he felt pleasantly light and free of any kind of pain. In fact he felt like… floating. A funny feeling. Yet it wasn't so funny anymore as he realized where he was… and why he was here. A movement caught his attention and it was now that he actually noticed that there was someone sitting beside his bed._

"_Welcome back, bro," Kofi said hushed, giving him a happy smile as he inched closer with his chair._

_There was a careful touch on the back of his hand, a reassuring one. And then he remembered, too, that Kofi had been hurt the last time he'd seen him._

"_Hey," he rasped, his throat burning. Right, the smoke… "You okay?"_

_A silly question, given that Kofi was sitting there beside him without any signs of more serious injuries. There were a few minor cuts on his forehead and a few scratches on his cheek. John didn't check his friend's condition any further because although he didn't have any pain, moving was difficult due to stiff muscles._

"_Some bruises and slight burns, a sprained ankle and some cuts," the other man replied still hushed. "How 'bout you? Need some pain meds?"_

"_No…" John mumbled, turning his head just a bit more to the side as he noticed that his arm was thickly wrapped in white tissue. "How long have I been out?"_

_Kofi obviously noticed it._

"_Three days. You got a hit to the head. Lots of bruises, smoke poisoning and your shoulder was dislocated. And you got some nasty burns on your shoulder and arm," Kofi explained. "They found you and Phil close to the exit of the building. Doc said that it's a wonder that you're not injured more than you are. There was a second explosion and the ceiling crashed down on you. Well… parts of it. You can speak of luck, John."_

_Luck… fuck, yeah… they've had luck, more than he could have hoped for. _

"_Phil?" he asked, this time barely more than a whisper._

"_A bad concussion, smoke poisoning, a few minor burns. He suffered multiple fractures in both his lower legs. The surgery went good, the doc is positive that he'll be able to walk again in a few months," Kofi replied quietly. The smile on his face became a bit sad as he added: "He can't remember anything that happened after the first explosion. I didn't tell him yet that you went in there to get him out. Thought that you might want me not to tell him…"_

_Blinking slowly, John gave the other man a tiny nod._

"_John… I think he should know it," his friend sighed. _

_Closing his eyes, John took a few painful breaths before whispering: "Won't change anything anyway. He's too embittered. Will only upset him…"_

"_Yeah, maybe he will be upset, but he should know that he's only alive because you went in there and risked your life for him."_

"_No."_

"_But…"_

"_No!" John repeated a little sharper this time and he regretted it immediately._

_A painful coughing fit followed and when it finally stopped, he felt a hand slip under his head, slightly lifting it off the pillow. Worried brown eyes met his gaze as he opened his own again. _

"_Here, drink something," Kofi said and held a glass to John's lips, who carefully sipped some water. "And now you should rest, okay? I'll be away for a while, gonna look in on Phil."_

_Nodding, John shifted to get more comfortable while Kofi got up from his chair and walked over to the door and he was almost out of the room as John called after him: "Don't tell him. Promise."_

_He could see on the other man's face that Kofi wasn't happy about it, but he also saw that he accepted John's wish._

"_Okay. Promise."_

Sometimes he wonderen how Phil was feeling about him. What he _really_ felt. Was there under that guarded expression still the hatred he'd seen back then? He hoped not, hoped that Phil had changed his mind about him. Well, Phil would be here for a while and John had a lot of time now to find out if there was a chance that Phil at least started talking to him again. It would be a start, wouldn't it?

Pressing his lips to a thin line, John ran a hand over his hair. He could be grateful that his boss liked him that much. Instead of being fired and charged for civil disorder, his boss had pushed some buttons and had ordered him to take two month of unpaid vacation. In addition he had to pay any medical bill himself since it couldn't be filed as work accident and his own insurance refused to cover the costs, too, as his injuries resulted of negligence. The amount of money the whole thing would cost him hurt, yet luckily he could afford it and so he could live with it. It could have been worse. Everything… could have been worse. Much.

Again his thoughts came to a halt as he watched Phil turn the wheelchair to get back into the house as the book fell off his legs. Leaning over, the other man fished for the book… and fell out of the wheelchair. Faintly John heard him cry out, saw him slam his fists to the ground once, hard, while his face contorted to a pained grimace.

John was on his feet and on his way down before his brain caught up and the voice in his head that was telling him that Phil would probably tell him to fuck off was loud, but his heart was louder… 

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**Reviews are love :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Not much to say, the story continues :)

Thanks to all those who left a review the last time!

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Phil didn't even notice him as he jumped over the fence, running towards him. Phil had his eyes screwed shut and his features were tense, pained, and his hand were balled to fists as he tried to breathe the pain down. Only when John knelt down beside him, quietly saying his name, he realized that he wasn't alone. His eyes shot open, meeting John's worried ones with that somehow always present angriness while he did his best to wipe any trace of pain from his face.

"Fuck off," he gritted out, shifting to turn away from John but he stopped his attempt to get away immediately with a traitorous, pained hiss on his lips. "I don't need your help," he snapped then, shooting John a glare.

Do you need anything? Please let me help you. The words were lying on John's tongue, wanting to be spoken aloud, just like so much more he wanted to say to Phil, but he swallowed them down, knowing it was of no avail to even say one single word. Instead he carefully brought one arm under Phil's knees, while the other one snaked around his shoulders to lift him up very gently. Phil's reaction was immediate. His hands came up to John's chest, pushing him away. Without success though.

"I said don't need your fucking help!" Phil spat nevertheless.

John still didn't say anything, just lowered the struggling man down in the wheelchair and no matter how much he wished that the words the other man had for him were a little less biting, he knew that it would be better to simply go back to his own house and leave Phil alone. And so he turned away from him, ignored his own heart the wanted to stay here and made his way back without uttering a single word.

He had just reached the fence as he heard Phil ask: "Why did you do it?"

John stopped, his hand on the fence to climb over it. He heard the words, but the question carried a note that gave it a smack of something… different.

"Because Kofi will be away for at least one more hour and you wouldn't have managed to get back into the wheelchair on your own. And I'm sure not gonna sit there watching you lying on the ground. You should let a doc check your legs to make sure the fractures aren't dislocated," he replied carefully neutral as he moved again to get over the fence.

But once more it was Phil's words which stopped him and he heard him say: "That's not what I meant."

Hesitation for a brief moment… before John pulled his hand back and turned back around to Phil who gazed at him in a strange mixture of curiousity and reproach. In a way he had known that Phil hadn't meant the obvious.

"So you've known it all the time," John said quietly and somehow it didn't surprise him that Phil remembered… had probably from the very moment he'd opened his eyes after waking up from the surgery.

It made him a bit angry, the fact that Phil had acted as if he couldn't remember anything when there had been someone who had risked his life to save his… but most of all he felt disappointment sting in his guts.

"I haven't asked you to do it. So don't expect a thank you and it won't make up for _it_," Phil said in what could have been called a growl. There was nothing left of that warm honey voice he'd come to love so much. "How many people in there would have needed help, John? You were in there, you could have helped them but instead you waste your time on getting one single person out. I heard them scream and I know you heard them, too."

With a sigh John ran a hand over his hair.

_He's alive,_ he told himself. H_e's alive and that's all that counts. I don't need a thank you, I don't expect him to be friends with me now. _

The bit of angriness was gone but the disppointment grew and although he kept telling himself his little mantra, the verbal slaps the other man delivered _hurt_. All the time it had been Phil who's hauled things at him… maybe it was time now for John to say something.

"You know what? You're right, there have been other people in there who needed help but it's not like I could have walked in and out there just like that, okay? I didn't wear my safety gear. I had one shot, Phil. One fucking shot to go in there, find you and get us both out alive and if you want to blame me now that I decided to risk my life for the one I love instead for someone I don't know, then so be it. Go on, blame me. I would do it again and I have never expected a single fucking thank you. All I could think of was to make sure you get out there alive," John said very calmly, fighting to keep his voice from quivering as his heart ran in his chest like a base drum. "I have risked my life to rescue people out of a fire hell so often that I stopped counting a long time ago. And there have been moments when people died while I rescued someone else. Things like that happen. There is nothing I have to apologize for, Phil." He sighed again. "I don't know what happened back then, why the firefighters couldn't… or didn't for any reason... get your family out of that burning house and I don't have the words to tell you how sorry I am for what you had to go through, but to hate me for it just because I chose to do this job is not fair." A bitter smile washed over John's face. "I just wished you could look at me and see _me_ instead of a phantom of your past."

With that he turned away from Phil who only stared at him. There had been no reaction from him during John's little speech, not the tiniest of changes in his expression and all John got from him was that stony mask of hurt and accusation. Not even as he'd said that he loved him…

_Call me back, _he begged silently as he climbed over the fence, slowly walking away.

He could feel those intense green eyes stare holes into his back, eyes which he knew could gaze at him so much softer… even with affection… and while he took step by step further away from the other man, there was no calling him back. One single word. He would have been thankful for one single word that told him that Phil didn't hate him as much as it seemed.

Nothing. And it fucking wasn't fair…

Maybe he should have simply stepped back into his house when he reached the door but in the end he was much too weak not to turn back around and it was what he did, turning around to look back at Phil who was still there, the expression on his face the same.

"If I could turn back time, I would do it, Phil. I would walk right into that goddamn house and get your family out to take the pain away from you. But I can't," he whispered, wishing the words would reach Phil and touch the right place in his heart. "I can't, Phil…"

Almost as if Phil had heard him, he sat up straighter and bowed his head a bit forward. The weight of the intense gaze was taken away from John but only for a moment. Phil looked back up to him then and John waited, hoping for a word or at least a nod… but instead he had to watch as the other man turned the wheelchair, slowly making his way back into the house.

A minute maybe. It was how John kept gazing at the big glass door through which Phil had vanished, before his feet carried him back up to his comfort corner on the wide windowsill, where he curled up in in the corner, closing his eyes while his mind swept back to the day that had destroyed his hopes, had shattered it to a million of pieces…

_The sun was shining brightly down on them and the birds were chirping happily, while the mouthwatering scent of a barbeque hung in the air. For the past hour John's world had been perfect and how could it not when the man his heart longed for was here, too?_

_With a smile on his lips and two beer and a soda in his hands John made his way from the kitchen out in his yard, handing one beer over to Kofi. With a thanks Phil snatched the remaining drinks from his hands, put it on the nearby table and crossed his arms over his chest while eyeing him with a raised eyebrow._

"_What?" John asked confused, looking down at himself._

"_Take your shirt off," Phil demanded shamelessly._

"_Pretty bold, Mister," he replied, quirking an eyebrow. _

"_You're running around here, showing arms off that might burst that shirt open any second. You got me curious and now strip," Phil grinned while nodding encouragingly._

_How good were the chances that the one he'd been adoring from afar the whole time turned out to be gay? Well, for once luck had been on John's side… because Phil was actually gay. Jackpot. And so John did what he was being asked for because, hey, this was Phil wanting him to strip and if it heightened the chances that the other man might be interested in him, then he was willed to run around in his yard stark naked if necessary._

_So he tugged the shirt up, making sure to give the other man a good show as he peeled out of it slowly. A bit of extra stretching here, some rippling abs there… _

_The piece of fabric slipped over his head, his gaze fixing back on Phil and the interest that was written there on the other man's face was satisfiying. Much._

"_Impressive…" Phil mumbled as he began to circle John slowly._

"_It's quite okay I guess," John said smiling as he caught Phil eyeing him like a special piece of art._

"_Okay? Fuck, man, I can hide behind you easily," Phil stated, coming to stand in front of him again, while his eyes roamed over his body once more. "You're a goddamn bull."_

_The green eyes came up to John's as he said that, but dropped back to the broad chest almost immediately and at the intent stare John had a hard time not to grin like a complete idiot. Instead he let his pecs jump ever so slightly and the answer he got was a twitch of the other man's lips. _

"_Uhm… can I touch…?" Phil asked without wrenching his gaze away from the bulky pecs and John only just managed to fight down an all too smug smile._

"_Sure," he said, pursing his lips a little to hold back the next smirk that threatened to show up._

_Phil reached out, hesitantly laying a hand on a pec and while he did that, he gnawed on his bottom lip._

_Too. Damn. Cute._

_The hand on his chest became bolder, feeling around. And maybe, just maybe… Phil felt how hard his heart was pounding against his chest…_

"_That a thing gay dudes do? Groping each others man boobs?" Kofi snorted, checking the barbeque grill._

_A wide grin spread over Phil's face, so sunny that John allowed his own held-back one to show up on his lips._

"_In any case groping man boobs like these here is something every gay man wants. But it's a bad deal for John if you ask me, my boobs aren't much impressive," Phil replied while planting his other hand on John's chest, too, now cupping both his pecs. "Holy shit, that's gotta be a double D."_

"_Show me," John demanded, still grinning and from the corner of his eye he saw Kofi turn around to them._

"_Hey man, this ain't a soft porn shoot!" he heard Kofi complain half-heartedly._

"_I'm sure the barbeque needs some more of your attention, Kingston," John called, not breaking his gaze away from Phil, who still had his hands on John's pecs and a faint blush on his cheeks. "Come on, it's only fair," he said to Phil._

_The grin on his lips faded to a soft smile as he waited for Phil to take his shirt off. He really hoped the other man would return the favor of letting him put his hands on his pecs, impressive or not. Phil was rather lean and John actually liked that. And the tattoo sleeves on both of Phil's arms were beautiful, teasing because the colorful art left him curious how much more art was gracing the other man. In fact Phil was the perfect package. Handsome, well-built as far as his clothes allowed to guess, funny, intelligent, a nice guy. And obviously interested in John. _

_Perfect. Too perfect almost._

_After that first hello in Kofi's yard and about twenty minutes of easy talking, he'd joined Kofi and Phil's little get-together two more times in the following days. Being with Phil felt excitingly new and as if he knew him for years already at the same time and because he wanted to spend as much time with this man as possible, he had decided to invite Kofi and Phil to a barbeque. And Phil had agreed before he'd even finished the sentence, almost as if he had waited for it the whole time._

"_Uhm… promise that you won't laugh or something," Phil muttered, pulling his hands back and John was torn between feeling sorry that those hands weren't on his body anymore and the anticipation of seeing Phil shirtless._

"_Promise," he replied quietly, reaching out to give the other man's shirt a tiny tug._

_Nodding softly, Phil dropped his gaze briefly to the ground, before shrugging his shoulders and pulling his shirt unceremoniously over his head. John knew that he was staring. He knew it and he fucking didn't care. _

_Wow…_

_Phil was well-built, the lean frame in shape but not too wiry and the tan skin was shimmering smooth in the golden light that fell down on them. The inked art continued on his chest, beautifying the sun-kissed skin. And there was a nipple-piercing…_

_And John swallowed hard against the urge to give the piercing some much more personal attention. _

_Fuck, actually he wanted to give the whole Phil much more personal attention…_

_But Phil owed him a round of groping and so he unashamedly placed his hands on Phil's chest, earning a snort from the other man, and, yes, those pecs fit perfectly in his hands. From somewhere behind them he heard Kofi complain a bit more about soft-porn in the backyard but John couldn't have cared less. He had his hands on the bare chest of the man he wanted and it felt too goddamn good._

"_See? Bad deal for you," Phil chuckled, putting his arms akimbo as he shifted his stance a bit._

_There was a twinkle in those green eyes, John noticed, and he watched as the other man's bottom lip got caught between his teeth. A smirk tugged at the corners of Phil's mouth. _

_Hot…_

_You tease, John thought, while trying to keep his breathing even._

"_Wouldn't say that," John said, letting his fingers trail over the pecs briefly as he pulled his hands back… making sure that the tip of his index finger graced the nipple piercing ever so slightly._

_The twinkle in Phil's eyes became brighter and suddenly the air between them seemed to thicken and hum._

_It was Kofi's voice that cut into the moment as he called: "Hey man, where's that scar on your back from?"_

_The question seemed to wash over Phil like a freezing shower, drowning the twinkle in his eyes, only to replace it by a dull something and John watched as Phil tensed up, a shadow of pain etching into the handsome features. Dropping his gaze to the ground, Phil turned away from John and trew his shirt back on. Before the fabric could slip down to his waist completely, John caught a glimpse on a scarred patch of skin on the other man's back. The scar was dark and rough textured, almost as if…_

"_A souvenir from my past," Phil muttered as he grabbed the soda, taking a sip. The expression on his face was achingly bitter as he added very quietly: "Our house… I… when I was a kid, I woke up one night and I tried to get out of my room but… everywhere was fire." His gaze became distant as he spoke and his fingers tightened around the coke can in his hand, so tight that he crushed it. Coke spilled over his hand, but he didn't seem to notice it. "I called for my mom and my dad but there was no answer. And then a firefighter came into my room and brought me out." A short pause. Then: "My parents died in there…_

_A choking quietness settled over the yard as Phil's voice trailed off. As he gazed over to Kofi, John saw that his friend was as shocked as he was, that he also hadn't known about Phil's past. Swallowing hard on the lump in his throat, John tried to come up with something… comforting… but what could he say now to make something better that had happened so long ago?_

"_No one tried to go back in to get them out," Phil hissed suddenly, restrained rage quivering underneath. "Those goddamn, cold-blooded bastards let them die…"_

_The lump in John's throat got thicker at those words, at the way they were spoken. He knew this kind of reaction, had seen it often enough since he'd become a firefighter. People lost their families, friends and tried to find someone to blame. _

"_Maybe… maybe they couldn't go back in," John said quietly. "I'm sure they would have gotten your parents out if there had been a chance. You know, sometimes the fire's too big already to save everyone."_

_A huff. Bitter… so very bitter…_

"_What do you know about that? How can you…" Phil said but stopped mid-sentence, his brows furrowing and his gaze fixing on John. A shadow cast over his eyes as the rage John had heard in his voice now also glinted in the green orbs. "You're one of them." Phil's voice dropped to a low growl as he spoke. "You're one of those fucking bastards."_

_A chill ran down John's spine._

_Shit, he thought. Shit, no…_

"_Phil, I…" he began in an attempt to apologize for something that hadn't been his fault, reaching out to him to calm him down, but he was cut off as Phil slapped his hand away and shoved him back forcefully._

"_Don't touch me!" Phil growled. "Don't you fucking touch me!"_

_And then… Phil left. Ignoring Kofi who called his name he left without another word or a gaze and walked past John who wanted to stop him, but he couldn't move…  
_

The ringing of his phone made him flinch, shaking him out of his memories roughly and with a sigh he wrenched his eyes away from the empty patio and slipped from the windowsill. His feet carried him to his phone.

"Hey Kofi," he answered the call before the caller had a chance to say a word.

He'd guessed Kofi would call after coming back home to ask if something had happened or to tell him that everything was okay. Or maybe he'd noticed that something had happened…

"Okay, so I'm coming back home and Phil refuses to talk to me and he's staring out of the window like a still-life. Spill it, Cena, what's going on here?" his friend said outright, the raised eyebrow and the crossed arms audibly in his voice.

Here we go.

"He was in the yard, reading, and the book fell off his legs. He tried to pick it up and fell out of the wheelchair," John explained quietly. "I went down and helped him back into the wheelchair."

"And he didn't like it," Kofi assumed.

"Yeah, I guess it's safe to say that he didn't like it," John sighed and walked back to the windowsill, perching on it. "He knows it, Kofi. He knows that it was me who got him out of the fire. And he has known it all the time."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then John heard his friend exhale sharply.

"Listen, John, I'm gonna call you later again. There's something I need to settle first," Kofi replied with an edge in his voice and John had an idea what he wanted to settle.

"No, wait," John said quickly before the other man could end the call. Even if Kofi had a word with Phil now, what would it be good for? "Let him be. It doesn't matter what I say, what you say. What has happened in his past has cut too deep. He hates me. It'll only destroy your friendship with him if you…

"Yeah, he's my friend and I fully understand his pain, but what happened wasn't your fault. I'm not watching him treat you like you're the reason his family died. As his friend I have the right and the duty to tell him my opinion. He lied right to my face and I don't like that."

"Kofi… I told him that I love him," John whispered down the line. "Not one fucking word. He just looked at me as if I'm…" He stopped mid-sentence, sighed heavily. "Fuck… I don't know…"

The line fell silent for a long moment.

Then: "Jesus, John… I'm sorry…"

A single, bitter laughter passed John's lips as he pulled his knees up to his chest, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his knees. He felt so damn tired…

"No need to be sorry, Kofi. I don't know what I've been thinking to tell him," he mumbled. "Look, it's your good right to settle this for you but please don't bring my silly confession of love up. And don't push him too much. It's not worth it." Again there was quietness before John exhaled a heavy breath and slipped off the windowsill. "Listen, I'm dog tired. I think I should hit the hay."

"Okay, man. Call me if you need anything," Kofi said softly.

John mumbled a _yeah_ and ended the call. Tossing his phone onto the bedside table, he crawled under the blankets, not even bothering to get rid of his clothes. The sudden exhaustion pulled him down mercilessly and he had barely closed his eyes, when a leaden sleep settled over him…

X

The sound of the closing front door mixed with the light jingle of the keys as they dropped on the counter beside the door. The call of his boss this morning, asking him if he could go to the company medical officer for a check-up, had been unexpected. Even more because the medical officer should give him a _cleared for service_. The suspension had been prematurely rescinded due to under-staffing and so he would be back on duty the day after tomorrow.

It was good, wasn't it? Being back on duty meant distraction, would channel his thoughts on other things than… Phil. Because Phil was what his thoughts revolved around and it pulled him down, depressed him and not even long runs or hard work-outs helped him out of that hole. And he was about to get cabin fever anyway.

Stopping in the middle of his living room, John gazed out of the big glass front, his eyes fixed on a random point on the lawn. The weather was picture perfect… warm but not too warm, sunny, barely a cloud was tainting the bright blue sky. And because his mind latched on Phil again, he decided to just go out and run until he couldn't take even one more step. Nodding to himself, he quickly made his way upstairs to change into his work-out clothes and he was about to throw a tank-top on as his phone rang, showing an anonymous number. With a frown John gazed at it for a second or two, pondering if he should answer the call or just ignore it, but he had all time of the world and getting out five minutes later didn't make a difference, right?

"Cena here."

Silence. But only briefly. The first thing he heard was a barely audible, stifled groan and a heavy breath being exhaled.

Then: "John, uhm… I need your help."

Phil. This was Phil, calling him. Asking for his help.

_Phil_… asking _him_ for _help_.

After the way the other man had treated him, he maybe should have ended the call now and show Phil that if he _wanted_ him to stay away, that he _would_ stay away from now on, that he wasn't some idiot he could push around. Maybe he should show Phil that the point was reached where John wasn't willed anymore to take every punch.

Maybe.

Yeah, sure… as if he would do that. Because even if his head told him to stay away and show Phil that he was fed up with him, his heart was louder. He had been walking through fire to find him. He wouldn't give up now.

Phil was asking him for help and maybe, just maybe… this was a first step into the right direction.

"John?" Phil asked quietly.

John's feet were already moving as he said: "Yeah… yeah, I'm coming over."

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**Reviews are love :3**

**A/N **October 27th:** 6 or more reviews-term applies here,** because before I started this story, there have been so many voices asking me to write a Punkena fic and somehow those voices have become very-very quiet...**  
**


	4. Chapter 4

First of all, my special thanks go to SparkenRose, Vindictive John Dark Fantasy, Madmoiselle Else, The Reign of Maddox, Moiself and Guest for leaving a review to the last chapter. You're actually the reason I continued the story :)

I hope all of you out there enjoy this chapter.

Have fun!

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Grabbing the spare key to Kofi's house from the counter, he made his way over quickly and he probably should have been happy that Phil actually was asking _him_ for help, but the mere fact caused him a bad feeling in the guts because… where was Kofi? And what had happened that Phil needed his help?

He got an answer to the latter as he opened the front door, being greeted by the image of Phil sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall close to the stairs to the second floor. The wheelchair was lying on its side not far from him. On the first look seemed to be okay so far, except for a bit of blood on his forehead and the defeated expression on his face as he looked up to John. Closing the door, John exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and somehow his heart slowed down although he hadn't been aware that it had been running actually.

"You okay?" he asked with a frown on his face as he kneeled down at Phil's side.

"I guess so," Phil mumbled wearily, casting his eyes down.

Leaning closer, John exmined the wound on Phil's forehead. A cut, not deep but bleeding a little.

"What happened?" he wanted to know.

"I wanted to slide down the stairs on my butt and tried to get the wheelchair down stair by stair, too," Phil muttered, looking anywhere but at John. "On the last few stairs that stupid thing slipped out if my hand. I tried to stop it from crashing down and lost my balance."

There was a bitter part in John that began to grin grimmly at this. Maybe that little bit of a hit to the head had left a crack in the idiotic and stubborn hatred which lingered so deep in Phil.

"You in pain?" John murmured while scrutinizing the other man, looking out for a hint that Phil was pretending not be in pain when he maybe was. "What about your legs?"

"The splints are sitting pretty tight. Think my legs are okay." A short pause. Then: "My head hurts a bit though."

Phil was still not really gazing at John while he spoke.

"The head or the cut?"

"Uh… the head but I guess it's not surprising after introducing my forehead to the stairs," Phil snorted weakly.

And because Phil stubbornly refused to look at him, John brought a hand to the other man's chin to gently but insistently making him meet his gaze finally. The look in the other man's eyes was careful but not filled with animosity… like it had been not long ago.

"Could be a concussion," he murmured, intently eyeing the slightly pale face.

"No… it's just a headache."

John wasn't in the mood to discuss this now and although Phil was paler than usually, his eyes were neither clouded nor glassy and his gaze was clear, so he decided not to insist on getting Phil to a doctor. It would probably have been a vain attempt anyway. With a quiet sigh and a frown he straightened up and headed for the bathroom to get some stuff to patch Phil up.

When he came back, he kneeled down beside him again and again Phil refused to look at him. Wordlessly began to clean the cut and it was almost disturbing how quiet and compliant Phil was. The only reactions he got from the other man were a few tiny twitches in his features or a faint furrowing of his brows, but thenn suddenly there was a change on Phil's face. A slight widening of eyes, a flaring of nostrils, the ever so barely tightening of lips… his features… smoothing and tensing at the same time. Realization… as the green eyes fixed on something that had been there all the time but hadn't seen or rather noticed, right there on John's shoulder and arm.

The burn scar.

John noticed the change and he also knew what Phil was staring at, yet he kept quiet, waiting for him to say something about it… wondering if he would. Actually it was impossible _not_ to see that scar when he was wearing only a tank top lie he did now, since it was pretty big and still a bit irritated and thus slightly reddened, but he wasn't really surprised that Phil only noticed it now, because the other man had been to wrapped up in his own world of hatred and misery. Obviously.

He wouldn't really have expected Phil to say a word about it and so it surprised him as a hand was lifted gingerly as if Phil wanted to touch the marred skin, stopping though before his fingertips actually made contact with it. For the briefest of moments John hesitated in his task and maybe it was what made Phil stop.

"How did this happen?" Phil asked quietly, his hand sinking down again.

"I've shielded you when the ceiling came down in the stairwell," John replied, trying hard to keep his voice steady and neutral, while wondering if the other man remembered those minutes in the stairwell, too.

It was all he said. He sealed his lips tightly shut afterwards and the reaction he got was a faint twitch around the other man's eyes. And only that. No words, not a sigh or whatever. Just this ridiculous nothing. John almost laughed at this hopelessly naïve part in him that just wouldn't stop hoping that Phil would give him a chance despite all that had happened in his past. And wasn't it poor? To keep hoping like an idiot? Like a starving dog waiting for a fucking treat?

Carefully placing a plaster over the cut, he finished his task of patching Phil up and grabbing the first aid kit, he got up and headed for the bathroom again to put it back. Bracing on the rim of the bathroom sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few long seconds and the man who met his gaze looked sad and he wasn't sure what had marked him more: the fire or… or Phil…

When he eventually went back down, Phil hadn't moved an inch and somehow he looked forlorn the way he sat there, his head bowed a bot, shoulders slightly hunched and his hand resting in his lap. But maybe John was only imagining things…

He sat the wheelchair back on its wheels, before hunching down at Phil's side again, wrapping one arm around the other man's back while slipping the other under his knees.

"Put your arm around my neck. I'm gonna get you back into the chair," John said quietly and Phil _did_ put his arm around his neck, but there was a certain reluctance lying in it.

This time there was no struggling as he lifted Phil up and carefully lowered him into the wheelchair.

"Where's Kofi?" he asked as he stepped back.

Finally but hesitantly meeting John's gaze, Phil murmured: "We, uhm… we had a fight. He left."

John could have asked now why Kofi had left. He didn't though because he already had a faint idea what had happened. So instead of asking, John only pursed his lips and nodded slightly.

"Did he say a word when he'll be back?" John wanted to know. Dropping his gaze to the floor again, Phil shook his head no and it made John wonder how bad they had been fighting. "Okay, uhm… Do you need anything?"

It was almost perturbing how _not_ biting Phil was. There was no edge in his voice and no sharp word and wasn't there the faintest shadow of warm honey back in it? But maybe he was only imagining the warm honey note because his heart longed for hearing it again…

"I… no, I don't need anything."

Quiet. Very quiet… small even and ever since that day in his yard it was the first time that Phil didn't seem to push him away, although he didn't really let him in, too. But even this tiny bit of difference, this not openly hating him… it was like balsam to John's suffering heart. But that nagging voice of reason muttered that this little piece of gold was only fool's gold. It couldn't be more, could it? Phil's hatred rooted too deep…

"I'm going for a run now. I'll be gone for about and hour, so just try not to fall out of that thing again," John muttered, feeling that it was time to go now although he didn't like the idea of Phil being alone at home.

His feet had already carried him half-way to the door as Phil spoke again.

"Thank you."

It stopped him dead in his tracks and momentarily he wasn't sure if he'd heard right, but then he turned back to Phil, gazing at him with a carefully neutral face.

"I know that Kofi talked to you about what has happened yesterday, so don't say thanks when we both know that you don't really mean it," John said quietly, much aware that although his voice was calm, his words were not.

And the words were bitter on his tongue, because he didn't _want_ to say them… but he could not not say them, because he simply couldn't believe that Phil really meant it. Swallowing hard, he took a step back and the neutral expression on his face gave way to a smile that was as bitter as the taste the words had left behind. Again he turned away to leave and again it was Phil's voice that stopped him, froze him to the spot.

"But I mean it. I really do," he heard Phil say but he didn't turn back around. Instead he closed his eyes against a suspicious stinging in his eyes, while his mind struggled to accept that maybe, just mabye there was a chance that Phil could stop hating him. "Thank you for getting me out of the fire and thank you for helping me yesterday and now." There was a soft sound behind him. The sound of wheels on the parquet, coming a little closer. "_Thank you, _John…"

"You made it pretty clear what you think of me, Phil, so why would you thank me when you hate me?"

Again there he heard wheels on parquet and then he saw Phil from the corner of his eye. Phil stopped at his side, gazing up to him… and there was apology lying in his eyes.

"I don't hate you, John. I know that it's not your fault what happened to my family…" Phil said just above a whisper. "I… it's hard to admit that I've wronged you and I know that it shouldn't be like that."

Swallowing hard, John tried to calm his suddenly wildly pounding heart. It was pumping _hope_ through his veins like a bright tingling. There was a light touch on his forearm and it made John look down at Phil and wasn't it strange that yesterday this man had hauled hate towards him and now there was seemingly nothing left of it? How could this be? He wanted to ask him, wanted to know what changed his mind from one day to the next, but the question got stuck in his throat. Maybe because he was afraid that asking it would make this bubble of hope burst. Ridiculous, wasn't it?

"All those years I've layed the blame for my fucked up past on those people who let my parents die. I talked myself into believing that firefighters are all alike because it made it easier for me to cope with it. And then you come along, a _firefighter_, and you make me like you so very much… I spent the whole fucking night thinking about all that has happened. It's not easy for me to accept that there is someone who risked his life just to get me out of the fire. It doesn't fit into my world. I know it's wrong. _I know it_… But it scares me because _you_ changed _everything_." Phil fell silent as John slowly walked over to the stairs, sitting down there, because he needed to. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands for a second, breathing deeply and when he looked up again, Phil was right there in front of him. "Kofi was angry because I pretended not to remember anything and because I… because I treated you like shit. And suddenly he was gone. After falling down the stairs I tried to get back into this fucking wheelchair and I didn't get it done on my own and I… huh, I've never felt so _alone_ in my life." John watched as Phil moved a little bit closer and then folded his hands and rested them in his lap, nervously brushing one of his thumbs back and forth. "I wasn't sure if you'd come when I called you. After what happened yesterday I thought you're gone, too." Phil took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes before whispering: "But I don't want you to be gone, John."

His heart had been running, but now it stumbled and then simply left a few beats out as it finally, really sunk in that Phil did not hate him… and that he had just opened the door again to let him in. A tide of happiness and gratefulness washed through him and hadn't the situation been so fragile, he would have wrapped his arms around this man to hold him close and never let him go again.

Let me kiss you, his heart whispered. Let me love you. _Please, let me love you…_

"Won't happen as long as you allow me to stay," John whispered back.

For long seconds they just gazed at each other, the air between them filling with a humming and it was a good one. Warm and rich. But although it was good, maybe it was too much at the moment. Ot was Phil who looked away first, his gaze becoming a little distant as his eyes swept down to the burn scar.

"Haven't you been scared to die in there?" Phil asked, reaching out to gingerly touch it.

A shiver ran through John as fingertips touched the still overly sensible skin.

"That you could die scared me more," John replied just above a whisper and laid a hand on Phil's, gently keeping it there on his shoulder. "I meant it, Phil. I love you."

There, he'd said it again but unlike yesterday those three words seemed to reach Phil's heart and it's echoe showed in the depth of those green eyes, gleaming in them. Beautiful. So beautiful.

"John, I…" Phil began but trailed off immediately, almost as if words failed him

"It's okay. I don't want to put pressure on you," John reassured him.

A sigh passed Phil's lips. A relieved one. Yet somehow it was bitter at the same time.

"Before I found out about you being a firefighter, I wanted us to be more than just friends. I felt more for you and it's still there. I can feel it here," he said, softly tapping against his own chest… right above his heart. "It's just… I need time. I need to sort this out with myself," Phil added just above a whisper. "If you give me some more time, then maybe…"

The gleam in his eyes was replaced by a plea. Please understand, it said and John did.

"You have all the time you need," John replied softly. "I'm waiting as long as it takes. Just… it hurt, you know? To be pushed away the way you pushed _me_ away. So if there's anything that bothers you, talk to me. And if you want me to stay away for a while, that's fine. Anything is better than feeling hated by you."

With that he let go fo Phil's hand, expecting him to draw it back, but instead Phil let his fingertips travel over the marred skin again while a tiny and deeply apologetic smile grew on his lips. And then his hand moved to the front of John's shirt. Hooking a finger under the wide collar, he peeked under it. The apologetic smile became an amused one.

"What…?" John asked mildly confused but happy to see Phil smile a real smile again.

"Just searching for the S on your chest," Phil replied and the smile not only grew on his lips, but also laced into hos voice. "You're walking through fire, you're lifting steel beams… you gotta be Superman."

"I'm not Superman," John snorted, not without a certain amount of bitterness. "Superman would have gotten you out there in a blink. _I_ almost failed… a few meters away from the fucking exit I couldn't go further…"

"You said the ceiling came down," he heard the other man say. He nodded slowly. "And you shielded me." Another nod. "So, you walked through fire, lifted a steel beam, shielded me from a ceiling that crashed down on us and we both survived. See? You gotta be Superman or else we wouldn't be here now."

Amazement. It was what John felt. And he was gazing at Phil in amazement because it felt so surreal, this now. It was as if those past weeks had been nothing but a bad dream. Actually it was too good, too perfect to be true. Closing his eyes, John dipped his head forward and willed the silly burning in his eyes down.

"I can't believe that this is happening. Not even half an hour ago I thought you'd hate me forever and now we're sitting here, talking and…" He fell silent, swallowing hard. "Why, Phil?"

Phil's hand dropped to John's forearm, lingering there for a hearbeat or two, before wandering down to John's hand to take it in a light hold. John's eyes fixed on their joined hands. His own fingers closed around the other man's. It was good, this touch. It was what he needed.

And finally it was back, that rich warm honey as Phil spoke again.

"Because I can't allow the fire to take someone important away from me again…"

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